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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280750">hell was the journey but it brought me heaven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91'>notalone91</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Paparazzi, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), True Love's Kiss, eddie sucks at moping and ignoring, richie goes back for eddie, richie is the least effective slut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:41:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt #31 - “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” Reddie PLEASE ANGST ME UP BB.</p><p>Living together after Richie goes back to rescue Eddie from the collapsed ruins of the Neibolt Street house, what conversation do they need to finally have?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hell was the journey but it brought me heaven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Every couple of nights since Derry, Richie Tozier has the same routine.  He’ll finish up writing for the day, usually run a comb through his hair and wash his face, then head out to clear his head.  It’s laughable, really, to think that will help, but he can try.  It’s been months, now, so it should have worked by now.  His head should be just about empty.  When he makes that joke to himself, he pauses for Eddie’s snarky response and then realizes, no.  Certainly not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d made the executive decision to go back into the wreckage of Neibolt street later on that dreaded evening, after a hot shower, another cry session, and over half a bottle of Angel’s Envy, he had headed out without a concrete plan.  In fact, he hadn’t even had the start of one  All he know was that he couldn’t just leave Eddie down there all alone.  It had taken 2 days without the rest of the group.  Between collapsed passageways and his piss poor sense of direction, he’d nearly abandoned his journey.  Still, he knew he would never forgive himself if he gave up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, though, he’d made it to the underbelly and began to dig.  He cried and screamed and cursed with every unsuccessful attempt.  Just when his body was about to give out, he saw it.  One bloody, badgered hand.  It broke his heart that the hand hadn’t reached for him.  He dug with all his might to free it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie’s whole body had been uncovered, Richie sobbed in relief.  The problem was that, now, he had no idea what he was going to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked the same as he had when they’d left him.  His hands and face were warm.  The wounds on her chest and cheek almost looked to be healing.  Richie didn’t know what to make of it.  Was he comatose?  Was he stuck in the deadlights?  Something worse, even after Pennywise was dead and gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eds,” he whispered, shaking him lightly as though trying to rouse him from a deep sleep.  “Eddie?  I’m gonna have to do something here.”  He stopped, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to figure out his plan.  “I don’t know what, yet, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he did.  He was pretty sure he knew what he had to do.  He had been there when Bev wouldn’t wake.  He had seen Ben kiss her gently until her eyes popped open.  Trouble was, Ben and Bev were soulmates.  It didn’t take a genius to see that as True Love’s Kiss.  They were a fucking bonafide fairytale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was pretty sure, no matter how strongly he felt, the fact that he’d left Eddie to die precluded him from fairytales.  Still, he had to try.  He had to know.  He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips then backed away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he even had time to berate himself for believing that it might work, Eddie took in a rattling breath.  His eyes fluttered open, then back shut.  “Did I really chicken out and say I fucked your mom?” he groaned.  “Was that really what I said?”  He winced, still not reopening his eyes.  As Richie hovered over him, he inspected the wounds, all still intact, then Richie wrapped him in a light hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As relieved as he was, they still had quite a way to go.  “Let’s get you out of here,” he coached.  He looped one long arm around him and hoisted him up.  As exhausted as he was, he felt adrenaline surge within him.  He was right.  He was fucking right and there was no denying it.  They should have helped him.  Richie fought off the nagging voice that still thought it might be too late, that it was a trick, that maybe Richie himself had died.  “Can you stand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugged, signaling for Richie to let him try.  He could and did.  It hurt, there was no denying that, but he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they started their return trek, Richie pulled a granola bar and a water out of his duffel and made sure Eddie held them down.  When all was set, they made their way back out the way Richie came.  It was long and arduous, but without all the dead ends, they were back out in hours, not days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what now?” Eddie asked as they waded out through the creek bed toward the road where Richie had left his rental.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed.  “Don’t hate me for this,” he said quietly, opening the passenger door and ushering him in.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie was suspicious of the guilt written all over his face.  “Richie, I swear to God, if you did all of this without any sort of plan, I don’t know what to s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shook his head and leaned over the door.  “I have a plan,” he answered.  “You’re just not going to like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like it, he didn’t.  The difference was, this time, he knew that the trip to Derry Home Hospital’s ER was warranted.  Necessary.  Wanted, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, minimal damage had occurred, all things considered.  A transfusion, a couple of courses of IV antibiotics and fluids, and one quick trip to surgery to take his appendix out of all things.  No real problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Eddie had had Richie by his side all along.  He’d dutifully noted every medication, every treatment, asked every question, even fought against a couple of medications Eddie had been too nervous to contest.  He hardly left.  By the end of the stay, Eddie had taken to sending Richie for “healthy food” just to give him the opportunity to leave.  God knew Eddie wanted that chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the while, they didn’t talk about what had brought Eddie back to life.  They didn’t talk about what Eddie had been too nervous to say.  They didn’t talk about the curious glances from the nurses, the lingering stares between them.  They didn’t even talk about the times Eddie would wake up to Richie asleep with his hand gingerly over his own, or his thigh, or once, his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, talking about that would be admitting it.  Admitting it would mean doing something about it.  Eddie hadn’t even been able to when he was sure he was going to die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Eddie was released, on the condition that he find someone to stay with.  Richie volunteered before the question was asked.  His lease was up on his apartment, anyway, so he could easily make the jump back to the east coast.  With a couple of phone calls and one virtually untouched AmEx black card, his stuff was on it’s way to a storage unit in Manhattan.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d decided on Chelsea, wanting to be far enough away from Myra and the upper East side as possible.  They found a 2 bedroom inside of a night.  “The power of money,” Richie had laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie, on the other hand, was floored.  Richie had moved mountains for him.  He hadn’t expected.  Maybe…</span>
  <span>A year later, Eddie’s sure he’s misread it all.  In fact, he’s not sure he was even in the same book, let alone on the same page.  It’s devastating, he thinks, to be in love with someone and not have them feel it too.  And, worse, of course, it’s his best friend.  In any other circumstance, he would have someone to talk to about it.  Not this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans and rolls over as he hears the telltale click of the front door.  Richie has long since stopped asking if he wants to come along.  Eddie doesn’t blame him.  He could never bring himself to go along and watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie has become something of a paparazzi darling these days.  Since his public “Breakdown” when Mike had called, his every move has been scrutinized.  And every time he goes out like this, some douchebag with a wallet where his brain should be manages to snap off some cellphone pics from whatever bar he winds up in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guys always look the same.  About a head shorter than Richie, jacked, decent but not expensive suits, Eddie doesn’t see the appeal.  They’re all so average.  Richie’s too special.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight’s leech is all the same.  This time, though, based on the trashy Instagram story Eddie’s watching, there was more.  Richie’s hands are in the guy’s hair, their hips are together against the bar.  The next frame, the guys’ hands are in the waist of Richie’s jeans.  The next, Richie’s eyes are wide open and his palms are against the guy’s chest.  The next, the guy is walking off pissed and Richie looks like he’s in tears.  Then, one of Richie smoking on the street corner, deep in thought.  Eddie laughs a little, despite himself, because it looks almost exactly like the Ben Affleck photo that went viral a few years back.  The last, though, shows Richie letting himself into an Uber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” he hisses.  That means Richie’s on his way home.  He bolts out of bed and into the kitchen.  One thing he’s ardent about is not letting Richie know he’s been moping on nights like these.  So, he throws on a pot of coffee and puts a handful of frozen cookies onto a tray.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie has a sweet tooth when he’s upset.  He always has.  So, Eddie always tries to keep cookie dough on hand.  He’s not great at the culinary stuff.  His mother had never let him and Myra had insisted similarly.  But, he tries.  And baking, he’s good at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cookies are just starting to smell up the apartment when Richie’s keys jingle in the lock.  “Oh,” is all the greeting he allows.  “I didn’t think you’d still be up.  I thought-”  He cuts himself off.  Truthfully, he thought a lot of things.  He drops his wallet and keys into the bowl by the door and drops into the sofa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches Eddie in the kitchen and has to hold back from getting up and snaking his arms around his waist and kissing his neck.  He has to stop the thought, even, because he doesn’t trust himself.  Instead, he buries his head in his arms and wishes for nothing more than the couch to swallow him whole.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie is beyond frustrated with himself.  The ease with which he’d told the snippy man with the strong hands that he couldn’t, that he was in love with someone else.  It was jarring.  Worse, though, it was pathetic.  He was in love with someone who would never feel the same.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so screwed,” he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unaware of Richie’s internal struggle, Eddie brings over a plate with two soft, warm cookies and a cup of coffee, in Richie’s favorite mug, fixed just the way he likes and places them on the coffee table.  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks tentatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head emphatically.  Still, he sticks his hand out and blindly grabs for a cookie.  Although he hadn’t expected it to, the small motion gives Eddie a warm smile.  It might not help, exactly.  It certainly won’t fix whatever’s going on in his head, but it’s a sign that he’s still in there, under the frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to stay here with you?” he offers.  When there’s no response, he decides to take it as a yes and joins him on the couch.  He doesn’t let himself get too comfortable, but he does grant himself permission to rest his hand on Richie’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like that for a while.  Eventually, it seems to sink in for Richie that Eddie is categorically too close.  They haven’t been this close since-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits bolt upright, nearly upending Eddie in the process.  “I can’t-” he starts.  At first, he doesn’t know where the sentence is going.  There are so many possibilities.  It’s stunning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks over at him, startled.  “Can’t what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this anymore.”  His heart breaks seeing the hurt in Eddie’s eyes.  “I just can’t be this person.  I can’t-”  He pauses and stands up, backing away.  “I can’t sit with you and come home to you knowing that this isn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded his legs up under himself, staring up at him.  His doe-like brown eyes blinked rapidly.  He waited to be told they couldn’t live together anymore, that Richie wanted him gone.  It wouldn’t have surprised him.  Not really, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Growing frustrated with his own lack of clarity, Richie decided to just blurt it out.  “I can’t love you and pretend that I’m okay with this platonic Odd Couple situation isn’t totally fucking bizarre.”  He roughed up his hair in frustration, wondering when this had all gotten so hard.  “I just want something real, you know?  All of my life, it feels like I’ve been stumbling blind, clinging for something to hold on to.  Now, we’ve got each other back in our lives and I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”  Finally, he sits on the coffee table and his knees brush against Eddie’s.  The fact that it claims him so quickly sends him into a rapid whirl.  “Like this and earlier with the cookies and everything else.  It’s so good.  It’s so good, Eds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, why-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t keep kissing strangers pretending they’re you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on Eddie’s face is enough to make Richie second guess every word he’s ever said.  Every single one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it my turn now?”  That’s something they’ve been working on.  When things are important, they take turns speaking so that nothing is missed, thanks to an argument that had happened while Bill was over.  They’d argued this same side for ten minutes before Bill realized how stupid they were.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nodded, his mouth suddenly too dry for words even if he had them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep kissing strangers pretending they’re me?”  He repeats, getting an affirmative nod from Richie.  “So, you said you love me?”  Richie nodded again, suddenly longing for the floorboards to give way and swallow him whole as they’d done all those years before at the Neibolt house.  “And you’ve been keeping this secret for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie balks.  He hadn’t expected that question.  “Since the Jade, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“SINCE THE-”  Eddie stops.  “Since the Jade, then.  And what about the conversation we had when we were fighting IT?” he asks.  His voice trembles a little, realizing Richie might not remember.  “When we thought I was dying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quiet moment passes between them.  Eddie isn’t sure if Richie actually does remember.  Or maybe it didn’t happen.  Maybe it was a near-death experience; a drop in blood pressure providing him the closure he needed.  Maybe it was just a hallucination.  Maybe, after all that happened, he really is crazy.  It would make sense, given his mother… and his ex-wife… Not to mention IT.  Returning to Derry had been the final straw.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately for Eddie, Richie DOES remember.  He remembers all of it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike, Ben, Bev, and Bill had peeled off to fight Pennywise while Richie stayed by Eddie’s side.  “Richie, go.  They… need you,” Eddie said, voice raspy.  Every moment he was conscious pained him, every breath a struggle, every word an effort.  “You have to,” he gasped, reaching for Richie’s hand.  “You have to all be together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not without you,” he argued.  “I’m staying put until you’re well enough to get up on your own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tried to shake his head.  “That’s not happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, I’m not going.”  There was no argument to it.  He was staying.  In the distance, he could make out some of the confrontation.  Bev and Ben seemed to have the name-calling pretty well under control.  They’d let him know when his assistance was necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie, I-” Eddie started, searching for the words.  “I need to tell you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say ‘I fucked your mother’ again, I’m going to punch you in the gut,” he threatened emptily.  His eyes welled with tears traitorously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie winced as he laughed.  “Now you know what it was like trying to talk to you at 12.”  He tried to ignore the foul metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, mainly in an attempt to block his tears from Eddie’s view.  He had to try to be strong.  “Okay, it’s fine- whatever it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the ensuing silence, the insults the Losers have been hurling have grown more urgent.  “You wanna try that again when we’re not being attacked by some Killer Klownz from Outer Space reject?”  He hears their battle cries and turns away, getting the gist.  “By a GUT FUCKING CLOWN?”  He shouts over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stared in a daze.  “I don’t think I’m gonna have another opportunity, Richie,” he whimpers.  “So, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eds, lease don’t.  Don’t say it and not give me the opportunity to show you how much-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you know what?  I’m not even gonna say it,” he decided aloud as he wiped away some of the blood from his face.  He left his hand on Eddie’s cheek gently.  “I’m not saying it if it gives you closure and means you’re gonna let go on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nodded, pain starting to dissipate.  He knew enough to know that that wasn’t good.  But what he couldn’t do was let Richie watch him die.  He mustered up what little strength he had.  He looked past Richie to the other Losers.  They really needed him.  “Okay, Rich.  I won’t let go.  I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” he gasped out weakly, “but you have to go kill the fucking clown so we can get out of here.”  Richie tried to protest, but Eddie wouldn’t allow it.  He used what little strength he had to give Richie a borderline ineffective shove.  “Go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Richie burst through the splayed rock formation, tearing IT limb from limb.  Eddie’s vision swam and he finally lost consciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Richie remembered it, it was a broken promise and his biggest regret all wrapped into one neat package.  He’d never forgive himself for leaving Eddie down there.  Still, he couldn’t imagine harboring any frustration with Eddie for dying.  And neither truly mattered.  They were okay now.  Still, both events happened.  And he knew it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, when Eddie mentions it, of course, Richie’s jarred.  He’d expected Eddie to forget.  He’d been so out of it, it would have made sense, especially given that he’d never even hinted at remembering.  Richie stammers.  “I mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie folds his arms.  “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgot that I love you?” he asks incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting his head in his hands, Richie groans a “No.”  He shakes his head and attempts to put it into words.  “You didn’t say anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs.  “It was your turn.  I’d already said it,” he says calmly.  Somehow, he’s not mad about it either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, it’s almost a year that they could have been together, but this is okay.  Better, he guesses, that they didn’t rush into anything.  Everything had been so new and raw back in Derry.  27 years is a lot of life to miss, but now?  Eddie was certain that it was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie finally looks back at Eddie and the frustration melts away in the warmth of his smile.  “So does this mean…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Eddie beckons Richie closer to him.  He obliges.  Before he can even touch down on the couch, Eddie pulls Richie flush against him, one hand on his neck, one on his waist.  “Is this okay?” he asks in an odd moment where their lips aren’t pressed together.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better,” Richie whispers, meeting him all over again.</span>
</p>
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